


never too far

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Route, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, dimilix, fraldarddyd - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 10:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They both have ghosts, whether Felix believes in them or not.





	never too far

**Author's Note:**

> i took some liberties here because i'm horny. thanks

_ I tried to burn the bridge but _

_ the chance of you being there on the other side _

_ turned me back into a helpless fool and _

_ I don’t want to love you _

______ 

The nights are longer now, Felix thinks. Perhaps it is the way things have changed so massively, and none for the better. Perhaps it is because Dimitri himself is the darkness, the kind that swallows all around it into irrevocable obscurity, and he is back now. Alive, if that is what they can call it. 

Felix chooses to call it otherwise. This isn’t life. This is horror, and it has teeth. This is death walking, breathing, daring to take up space in the land of the living.

“I hear you,” Dimitri says as Felix enters the church. Felix’s stomach curdles, and he stops short, startled by the words. “I can hear you.”

“Can you?” Felix murmurs, too gently for his liking. Dimitri, hunched feral in the corner, does not move to acknowledge the call. 

Honestly, he asks himself, what the hell did he expect to find by coming here? Night after long, hellish night, he comes to this church, always finding the same thing, always meeting resistance and this huge, dark monstrosity, this wild beast no longer even attempting to feign humanity. 

It was true insanity — doing the same thing, over and over, and expecting different results. Perhaps Felix was the animal here, the one out of his mind. Small-brained and weak, looking for a whipping when it crossed a line it knew had ended several steps back.

“Can you, boar?” he asks again, louder this time, demanding, and watching that shadow sit unmoving. “Answer me.”

“Yes, I’m here, yes,” Dimitri responds, voice shaking around the words. But they are very obviously not addressed to Felix. They are only distant, phantom, a prayer given to the moon behind the clouds and souls without bodies. 

It would not be wise to run over there, to advance on him and draw his sword. It would not be wise to yell and kick and fight. It would be stupid to try and find answers here. It would be even more pointless to come back tomorrow. 

He hesitates by the arched doorway, feeling the open air behind him. It is all he can do to step back and make his way out, eyes on Dimitri until his form is too dark to see. 

______ 

It is all Felix can do, ever, to get away.

Far too often, he retreats to his room, finding solace in the solitude that awaits him there, in the privacy where he can think of what he never wants to.

Far too often, he crawls beneath the sheets, ravenously and intensely hard, and inexplicably so. There is no specific trigger, no driving force or urgency beyond the insatiable need to release, to _ feel, _and feel good in a way that punishes him. He wraps a slow, shameful hand around the pulsing weight of his cock and strokes, eyes closed and pressed into his pillow. 

Far too often, he cannot finish — not unless, that is, he lets his mouth fall open hot and wanting, lets his tongue roll against the silent air and pretends like it’s only empty because Dimitri is refusing him the fullness. As though it is Dimitri’s unfeeling hand encircling him, gripping him, guiding him without love or mercy and only with control. He lets his back arch, the sheet slipping to expose his chest to the cool room, nipples hard and aching with small little rippling shockwaves, the undying need for touch and heat and pain. He lets his hips stutter against the mattress, seeking what is never there, knowing his fate is this constant denial. 

Far too often, he ends the night with a dirty, sticky hand, and sweat on his back, and a tear or two fleeing from the corner of his eyes. Whether it is from the tepid, temporary relief, or the awful pleasure, or the emptiness, he doesn’t know. 

All he knows is that a life with Dimitri, with this prince — this ghost of his, now — is a life without hope. It always has been. And so Felix never dares to hope. Only to want, and to yearn for a nameless, nonexistent past or parallel, and to go to bed unfulfilled and alone.

______ 

When he thought Dimitri was dead, he did not cry. He did not scream into the wind, asking why this, too, was taken from him. Felix only stayed silent, continuing his days without interruption. He trained harder. He ate less. He tried to remember his strength, his skill, even if he had no one to serve but himself. 

He was not immune to it, though. The grief. And there were too many times when the empty room beside him roared with its lifelessness, its absence, and the walls felt too thick, closing in on him the longer he sat sleepless. 

One night, after a conversation with his father, Felix was reminded all too closely of what failed to be, what had ceased to exist. The claustrophobia was inescapable — it sank into the very marrow of his bones, pulling his ribs into a vice around his heart. It was long after curfew, but all of that was moot at this point, now that his professor was dead, too. 

Miserably, quietly, he left his room in nightclothes and floated to the room next door, where not a soul had dared to go since the last time Dimitri had walked these halls. Even when Dimitri was alive, hardly anyone, save for himself at a few inopportune times, had seen the inside of these quarters. With a shaking breath, Felix unhitched the latch, turned the knob, and stepped into the darkness. 

It was untouched. By the gentle light of the hallway, Felix could see that the sheets were still rumpled from that old midnight restlessness, that clothes were still strewn over the back of the chair at the desk. Papers sat carelessly atop its surface. 

No more. Felix closed the door behind him. He did not want to see what was left behind, forever unfinished. Instead, unthinking, he blindly found the folds of clothes draped on that chair, ran his hand over the lines of fine fabric and its embellishments. Fucking royalty. 

Even in the pitch blackness of the room, the lightlessness his eyes had yet to adjust to, Felix knew when he had found what he hadn’t even known he was looking for — one of Dimitri’s shirts, the kind that sat beneath his armor and regalia. He slipped it out from the heavy pile of fabric thrown atop. And then he brought it to his face, and he breathed in. 

The longing, so horribly potent, the one he’d thought he had whittled down into nothing, melted through his bloodstream in a slow, painful drip, one that seized each muscle one by one. It smelled just like Dimitri — clean sweat, sweet and masculine and heady. Always hiding the rotting underneath.

For once, though, Felix did not sense an ounce of it. He inhaled again, filling his lungs with the scent, feeling the beat of his heart shred the muscle, feeling his cock twitch hot beneath his own nightshirt. 

He moved only by instinct, stripping himself of his clothes, the air of the room tomb-cold against his naked skin. And then he slipped on the shirt in his hand, the fabric caressing his skin in ways he could never hope to be touched. It was far too large for him, the sheer span of the collar causing it to slide off one shoulder, the ties loose and untidy against his half-covered chest. 

He climbed into Dimitri’s bed, slid beneath the covers, breathed. And then, without any hesitation or thought, he brought his palm to the hardness waiting for it. He groaned, restrained, the depth of his grief ceaseless and terrifying, threatening to swallow him whole. Angry, scared, weak, he rocked into his own hand, over and over and over, trying not to cry out. Trying not to imagine what this could have been like sometime else, with someone else. 

He could almost sense the weight of Dimitri above him, between his parting knees, over his panting mouth. He flushed, so goddamn angry. _ I don’t love you, _ he thought, the words a wall of bricks and mortar worn with time. _ I don’t love you. I don’t love you. I don’t love you. _ But only one thing came out of his mouth. One word, a breathless, desperate whisper, too many times to count: _ Dima. _

Felix did not sleep that night. Not even when he returned to his own room, in his own clothes, early enough not to be seen. And in the morning, as he laid awake with eyes burning dry at the rims, he could hear movement and noise from the quarters next door. It was the staff, finally, working in unspoken agreement to clear the space once and for all. Cleaning. Packing. Ridding this monastery of any trace of its former resident, of their former prince.

Felix did the same. There was no point in staying here. No point in wasting his life here. He packed a bag, and then took one last look at Dimitri’s room through the open door — the sheets were changed and new, neat; the room, emptied. And then he left, deciding to not to mourn.

______ 

Dimitri comes to him, sometimes. Even more now that he has resumed his residence in the room next door, haunting him all over again. 

His broad, tall frame coats Felix in a shadow. His hands bear down heavy on the mattress on either side of Felix’s head, fingers tangling in the sex-loose hair splayed wildly around him. 

_ Do you want me inside you? _ Dimitri asks, his voice just as lovely and kind as ever, but it is just a mask as always; his breath is hot and sour, foul, and close enough for Felix to taste its warmth. Revolting, really, but it is all Felix can do not to lean forward and lick into it, take it for himself, to coat his teeth with it. A base urge. An animal reaction to a beast. 

_ Goddess, yes, _ Felix moans as softly as he can. _ I do. Please. _He wants Dimitri inside him, around him, with him. He wants to be marked with shame, to be suffocated with sensation, to be fucked as hard as he hates himself. He despises the way he desires this, this urge that defies his very being, this all-consuming need for the thing he loathes the most. 

It never happens, though. He opens his eyes, and Dimitri is not there. He never was. He never is. 

For all the begging in the world, the only thing Felix gets in return is noise from the other side of the wall — anguished, snarling, raging noise, trapped and confined in its cage. 

They are the sounds of the undead. 

______ 

**Author's Note:**

> words at beginning from  here (june one kim)


End file.
